Chiclorice
by WeMayBeDangerous
Summary: The kids are in highschool now,when Gretchen gets in a fist fight with Dib she's sent to Mr. Dwicky, her new heart throb. Then when her foster home is shut down, left over kids are sent to trusted member of the community. Guess where Gretchen ends up. R
1. Fists a flying

Gretchen pattered down the wide halls of highschool, her peripheral assisted in helping her avoid collisions. At times it was difficutl due to the fact that some felt it was completly necisarry to stop and chat or tet where they stand. In any given place, and at any given time, a clot of people would develop in these halls. It was especialy prone to occur near the lunch hall.

Gretchen stopped as she arrived at a clot where people chatted and confused, busy bodies tried to find a leak in the obstruction. Usually a mottled stream breaks through and the group deteriorates until eventually, only a few still-confused students remained. Once one enters teh clot, it tends to get hectic. Any moment, someone could step on your foot, elbow you, knock you over, or a fight could break out. Most othe time however, it was just a friendly gathering of friends, cliques, and thoseunfortunated enough to get snagged in the Swiffer Duster of Conversation.

As a smal, steady streame broke thoguh, somebody suddenly turned to depart their group and ramed into Gretchen. It was a big guy, so of course, she went flying a few steps back into the nearest person. Her back bomb arded someone elses. As soon as she could, she regained to balance and turned to say a quick apology. Before she could process who it was, they commented.

"Watch it!" he snapped with a glare.

It was Dib. Somewhere between middle school and highschool, he frew a spine and ditched his paranormal crussades all together. It might have had something to do with Zims dissapearance, but she didn't know. Now though, he wore, get this, GUY liner and had almost every inch of ear pierced, gaged and linked. His brows each had two piercings. He also sported two snake bites, a nose stud, a chin stud beneath his lip, a monroe, and god knows what else. He wore alot a rings and necklaces as well as bracelets. His glasses were thick-framed and boxed. His get up involved alot of straps and buckles, though she couldn't imagine why, wouldn't that make it harder for his little whores? He even wore the tigh pants under his tight-top loose trayne trench coat. Dib looked as tired as an owl during the day, and the glaring did not help. He was tall and very lanky, and looked like a total addict, but of course, he was.

Gretchen rolled here eyes and walked on. She only managed a few feet when she heard him add, "Dike."

She stopped and pivoted on her heels. "What was that?" she inquired.

Dib glanced at Portia, who had her fingers hooked in his pant-line. She was this months whore. Already he's been caught numorous times in the boys bathroom, broom closets, boiler room, under the bleachers, and in his home, rutting up some tramp. Rumas his it, that there's been at least seven girls in the last three months of school who's walked out of somewhere, quite pleased, Dib following not too far behind. Azalea had two abortions form him, Haden, one, and Portia, well she was carrying.

he turned back to Gretchen after pulling his hands out from Portians belly shirt and said, "You heard me." His friends snickered.

Gretchen let her bag slide down her arm to the floor next to her, "No, actually. Say it to my face you dick with legs." she replied with a raise of her brow.

Dib approached her quickly and stood right up to her. He practically had to look straight down at her to make eye contact. He stunk of the usual beer,weed and sex. " I'm surprised you know what one is." replied he coyly.

"Surprised you have one." she replied with a smirk.

"Like you don't." His posse oohed and a circle formed quickly.

"Tough words comming from a pube faced psoer."

"Like fuck I am! YOu're the poser, walking around like you got problems!"

"I do, smart ass!"

"Obviously."

"You greasy yetti-fucker! You just contradicted yourself!"

"Whoa, yetti-fucker? I haven't been anywheres near your gramma." he said with a laugh as he held up his palms defeansively.

That was it.

Gretchen pulled back a fist and before you could say, "exalted fecal chunks", her knuckles were grinding into his face. A gasp of astonishment escaped the spectators. Dib doubled over, cupping his cheek gingerly; blood trickled melifluously from between his knobby fingers.

"You butched up hick-shit!" he shouted, "The hell's your problem?! Freak!"

Gretchen shook out her hand, droplets of her own blood spattered. "Freak?" she laughed, "Don't go there! You were the outcast of outcast! Cluster-fuck!" she reminded. "Having to sit with your sister. You didn't have friends. Even your little sister beat you up!"

A ripple of laughter flowerd through the crowd. A buzz of satisfaction zipped through her veins.

"Shut up, skank!" Dib yelled as he stood. He took his handfrom his face revealing a long split along his zygoma.

"And you had to go and aggrivate the only out cast as low as you. what happened to him, huh Dib? Where's Zim?" she asked feighning interest.

It was never thought possible, but he grew paler, the blood on his face really stood out then.

"Fuck if I know!" he spat at last.

"OH yeah, you've been harassing him since elementary school, and when he up adn disapears, you have no idea!" It was working, he was beginning to panick.

"Shut up, bitch!" Portia whinnied. (not whined)

"Shut your cock-hole and open a book! You hooker!" Gretchen barked without taking her eyes from DIb.

"Fuck no! Don't tell my girl-"

"What? Advice?" she asked then turned to Portia. "What makes you think you're any better than the other walking pussies he fucked? Huh? Shit-inna-pit! He's knocked up two other girls like the horny dog he is! He's fuck'n another girl in the bathroom every lunch period, Portia! Ask Rhonda! She'd know all about that!" Gretchen pointed out.

Portia nearly gave birth then faced the dumbstruck Rhonda to quickly she almost gave herself whiplash. "You been hose'n down my man?!" She screeched.

"You're man?! You think he loves you 'cuz you gotta brat in your fat ass?"

"You're pregnant?!" Shaela yelped then looked over at Dib who looked like he'd been caught robbing the Churches bank account. (Not the resturant, you stooge)

Now a mob of wrestling skanks scuffed the floor. The blow caught Gretchen by surprise. she fell over, but not badly hurt. She' gotten worse from her race horses foaly.

She stood back up to face Dib who had his fists up still.. How like him to sucker punch somebody. Gretchen cracked her knuckles, which hurt like hell due to her fresh split, but she didn't show it. Dib watched her hands nervously.

"So you think that cus your dad's a filthy rich scientist and like you dress like the spawn of Merilynn Manson and Chris Angel, filling up every skank wh's as wide open as your litle cut there, " she pointed vaguely, "you can kick ass? Nuh-uh. No." she said. Suddenly her show came flying up at Dib which had been worked off during her distraction. He held up his hands to block it, as she expected, leaving his abdomin wide open. Gretchen lunged, driving her fists deep into his stomach, then pivoted to hammer his groin with her heel. (okay mom, okay. Thanks for the tai-kwon-do lessons...) Dib gasped and coughed, cluthing both targets. She turned just before he blew chunks all over the linolium. Dib pounded the floor. He was suffocating. Before he could gasp for breath from the blow, he'd thrown up, which tends to take the air you don't have from you. His buddies ruched to his side, being careful to avoid the steaming pile of puke, and began to pount on his back. Suddenly the voice of Mr. Sweether tore through the commotion like a sword through rice-paper. Gretchen grabbed ehr bag and high-tailed it out. she had to tackled her way through the crowd and the walls of hands wanting to hold her back and allow her to get caught by the fuzz. She managed to break through and bolted for teh nearest girls bathroom. Once inside, she locked the door and stashed out in a stall. In case some killder decided to drop by, almost every door had a lock on it.

Gretchen perched atop the plastic seat and brought her legs up to her chin. Tears flowed freely for the first time since her Grampy passed away.


	2. Surprise in the Loo

By the time my tears began to dry and adhire my eyelids together, Mr. Sweethy was standing outside the door trying to coax me out with the whole, 'You're not in that much trouble," bullcrap. After I toned him out with Massive Attack, he sighed irretably and was getting desprate. He threatened to call my foster home, but I couldn't care less. I didn't have anything they could take from me. Nobody did. When the king-of-air finally shut up long enough fo me to remember the second verse, another coice echoed in through the foor vent. Stupid. Put lock on every door to keep out killers or whatever, but then instasll a 2x2 tinfoil vent.

This voice sounded alot younger than , and like when your parents are just done with yelling at you, viging you a stern order.

"Gretchen, you need to come out."he said.

They way he said it, I could picture him leaning on the door frame, one are up over his head. Or course, it was only some fuzzy silhuette. I didn't answer.

"Hiding in the bathroom isn't going to help. "he added.

Again, I just ignored him, setting my chin on my knees. There was some kind of mumble between the two men, and the second, younger man spoke again.

"You split open his cheek, indueced omitting, and nearly suffocated him. Not only that, but you managed to start another fight." he rattled on. I thought I heard metal scraping, but before I could tyr and listen closer, the damn guy started to yap again.

"You started two fignts and caused injury to another student, so I can't say you're not in alot of trouble." he was then inturupted by Sweethy, surely about how he just contradicted what he said minuted before. "One battery, and two on influencing outbreak."he continued as if Mr. Sweether hadn' t spoken. "Surely you don't think he's deserving stitches." said he as if he knew how I thought. Mr. Sweethy then snuffled loudly. They think I'm stupid, that I don't know what Sweethy is trying to hint at.

"I sure as hell do! Just ask the wind-bag next to you!" I called, my voice startlingly loud in the echoey bathroom. "you think his greasy, boney face didn't damage me? Heh, three bloody knuckles!"I added.

I nearly jumpted into the toilet when the stall door swung open, and there stood some guy I'e neer seen before with his hand atop the door. I normal person would of used the latch, or lack there of, and push it open that way, but this guy just opened it by pushing on the top of the door. "Either way, you're in a heap."

SO here I am, sitting halfway in the toilet, by pants soaked with blood, my hand dripping, looking like a complete moronic elementary brat, and possibly the cutest faculty drone I'd ever seen was leaning on the stall, all Abrocrombie and Fitch like, and rather dissapointed.

God I hate myself.


	3. First Impression : Fail

Dwicky leaned back in his office chair, arms crossed patiently, watching the youth across from him chipping at her black nail polish. While he was talking, unscrewed the vent with his Handy-Camper pocket toolbox, every vice-principal has one, the sound muffled by his and her voice. At first she stared up at him like a deer in the headlights when he'd opened the door, but then she threw her head back in a groan of frustration. Now though,k she afted as if she was sent down on account of back sassing when really she'd battered another student notorious for being bad-ass and getting caught commmencing in intimate activities on shcool grounts. From what he understood, he'd been caught eight times in teh past month in said activities. Seven of the eight girls where a differant one. One of them had an abortion twice, one once, while another was carrying.

'What was it with these girls that caused them to do this? They know he cheats and drops girls weekly, most of which having to come see counseling, yet, they swoon at the sight of him.' Dwicky pondered.

He leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the desk. Gretchen looked up for a moment before continuing with her nails.

"Do yo know why you're here?" eh asked.

She stopped picking and looked at him loathingly, "No I havent' the slightest."

"Gretchen."  
"Because I beat the shit out of Dib."she replied. "Since he doesn't have guts to beat out."she then muttered.

"Gretchen, violance-"

"Is not he answer. Yeah, I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, okay Socretes. He had it commmng."

"Was is necisarry?"

"Yee-up."

"You could of spoken to a teacher."

Gretchen tossed down her hands, "You can't be serious! You gotta be new new here. Listen, " she glanced at his name plate, "Dicky" fogetting the W, "Dibs dad is Professor Membrane. THE professors of professors. Bobody gives a detention to the son of the man who gave us sourceless and unlimited energy. 10,000 smackers, and he's back in school, one in the pink in some bathroom." she informed.

"That's against school policy-"

"Dicky, dude, have you walked around the city? Driven?"she glanced away, "Flown?"

"Well, yes."

She raised a brow, "With your eyes open?"

That caught him slightly off-guard.

"Kids live off of weenies, mutant hamsters rampage, radiation deformed childred frolic, sawdust candybars are fed to them, stray dogs out Satens anus, explosive beans, explosions, exposed cess-pool, Michael Jackson running free on the streets! This is not happyville. It's not even Good-enoughsburg. Shit like that doesn't matter."

Dwicky sat back again, his hands dragging across the desk calander.

"And me, I don't have rich kin. I don't have family period." she crossed her arms.

"So, you're an orphan?"

No. That's not what an orphan is! Gretchen though sarcasitaclly. "With a capital O."

"For how long?"

"Childhood, but my grampa just died a few months ago."

"So, is this why you're so, outwards?"

You tell me, you're the counselor, "I guess. I used to keep to myself, but middle school changed people, highschool enforces it."

"Is that all?"

She scoffed, "No. I was a country girl, and now I'm smack in the middle of Villesburg, and the debt is just waiting to pounce on me once I'm of age, dictatitive oafs who like to take their shit out on me, this fuck-bucket we call school, no job, all my animals were either given away or euthenized, better yet, wait for the novel."

"Gretchen, this is normal. There's no need to lash out."

"You're telling me my reason is bogus?!"

"Well, no, but there are better alternetives."

"Like?"

"Well, uh, sports, burning energy and adrenaline, "he suggested, tapping the outside of his hands on the surface of his desk.

"You there's a joining fee, right? Then you gotta pay for usage of stuff." she asked.

"Run around a little?"

Gretchen sat up holding her hands over her knees before slapping them down and looking up at him, " I'm not sure if you've notived, but I'm in school! You know, where they keep uis in little cubes with twentyother obnoxious losesr for damn nearwo hours before moving us to another group of fuck-tards."

Dwicky let his head fall slack. She wasn't an easy one. His head flew back up and opened his mouth to speak.

"Say 'count back from 100, and I swear I'll turn into a lunch lady and staring breathing fire."she inturupted.

He sighed and put his hands flat together. "Gretchen, you need to help me help you. Start by being a little more agreeable." he said, his hands rocking as if he was tisking her.

"Fine. Golly Gee Wilicars Dicky! You sure are swell!" she mocked.

His hands disconnected and one came up to clasp his forhead beneath his curtain of jet black hair. "Gretchen," he began, visably pissed, "if you're not going to be mature about this, then please, just to go the detention room." He sighed, his eyes opened and met hers.

Gratefully she stood and exited, flashing him a nasty look before turning away. He only continued to watch her, undaunted and expressionless.


	4. New Feelings rise

The room was so white, you'd swear you were trapped under an avalanche. I shuffled over to the bench as sat, by bookbag tossed into a corner. I layed back and let one leg hang over the bench, one arm over my face. It didn'thelp to remember at that moment that the blood was drying up on my hand and itched terribly. I took away my arm to examine the wound. It still stung. I flexed my hand, frsh blood shmoozed out over the dried platelets. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Mr. Dicky talking to the secretary. One hand was deep in his pocket, the other eccentuated what he was saying. Mrs. Fibble said something and Dicky nodded with a blink, then brushed his bangs behind his ear. He mimed a wrapping motion around his hand and jerked his head in my direction. he hadn't forgotten after all. He suddenly turned to face me, and I quickly looked away. I brought up my legs and fiddled with my shoe lace once I was sure he was going to leave me alone. They felt oddly dirty. I was picking at some sticky gunk on the top of my shoe when the heavy door clicked . Ebbit cam ein , her shoes made a quiet shiffling sounds on the linolium. she stoped in front of me but didn't speak. She got new shoes it seemed. They looked strangely masculine.

"Don't nurses have to wear booties?"I asked without looking up.

One foot tipped a little as she looked at it, "I wouldn't know. I'm not a nurse." said a clearly male voice.

Definatly not Ms. Ebbit.

I jerked by head up and, surprise! It's Mr. Dicky! He held up some cloth and alcahol, "But I can give it a shot." he said without a trace of annoyance from earlier.

I looked away and stopped fiddling with my laces.

"Let's see your hand."he said gently.

I began to move my hand, but stopped. It's fine. Just blood flesh and bone. Nothing huge. I looked down at my fingers which idly grazed my shoe. From my peripheral, I saw him dab the cloth with the alcahol. He crouched and looked up at me, raising his brows.

"Your hand?"  
Hesitantly I held out my hand and he took it. I swear I turned as red as an apple and I could feel my flesh burn. His thumb pressed into my palm, his toher fingers pressed gently on top of my hand. He dabbed gingerly at y gaping wound. The fried blood disapeared and the sting was refreshing. When the rag was nearly soaked in blood, without a second thought, he folded the rag and set it on his knee, but he still held my hand for a moment. He looked at it closely as if to scrutenize my cells. He then sandwitched my hand in his, careful to not touch my wound.

"That's gonna need stitches." he concluded as he looked up at me.

For a breif moment, he just looked at each other, but he suddenly stood up, picking up the rag.

"Uhm, well, "He half turned towards the door, "I'll contact your home."He said importantly, then stood for another moment.

I looked over my hand, and he left. As soon as he turned the corner, I ran my finger along where his fingers pressed into my hand. even if I was about ot get a needle in it about ten times, I felt like I was stuffed with cotton. Then it hit me like my horses kick. What the hell am I thinking? I'm a junior in highschool with an over active attitude and serious etiquite problems. He's a tidy, gently twenty something year old school conselour. Tottally inmoral and tottally not going to happen.

******************************************


	5. A day in the life of Dwicky

An hour and thirteen minutes after the dismissal bell rang, and Dwicky finished his paper work. He was nearly finished with it all when Gretchen decided to pull off her ultimate offense. Five more forms were then shoved his way. One the good side, the school will be getting at least 10,000 bucks after this.

Once every file was tucked in its folder and the room was tidied, he grabbed his coat and sling-bag then headed out. he locked his office and shuffled down the hall into the main office. Mr. Truman, the custodian, was wiping down the finger smudged windows Mrs. Mindough was also readying to leave.

"Goodnight Mrs. M, "Dwicky said warmly as he passed through.

"Goodnight " she replied, just as warm.

The temperature was neutral, but the clouds over head suggested rain. it was only four thirty one, butthe clouds coaxed driver to turn on their headlights and to tip their lawn chairs. Dwicky sauntered across the park with his jacket slut over his shoulder and his bag knocking against him. He quickly punched in the keycode to his royal blue pickup and entered,his bag next to him and his jacket atop his bag. With a loud purr, the truck started, but after after, it made barely more than a contempt humm. It felt stuffy then, so Dwicky rolled down the window in time to catch Mr. Elliot exiting his own, quaint car.

" 'Evening Elliot!" Dwicky called.

"Hey, Dwicky!" he called back.

"Is there a meeting tonight or something?" He asked, one arm restong on the windows fram.

"Yeah. Wouldn'nt you know it? On a Friday! Just gotta come to this student aid meeting, y'know?" he said with faint shrug.

"Ah, yeah, those. Good luck with that."

Elliot waved his hand dismissively with a 'psh', "I've been doing this for years. It's cake!"

Both men shared a chuckle and then once again, bid their goodbyes. If it weren't for the fact that there were counselours for each greade, it would be him in there for the meeting. He is, however, the counselour for the eleventh grade. Elliot was there with the tenth grade counselors for reasons he couldn't figure out.

As Dwicky thought about this, he suddenly felt a pang of dissapointment. Ther was something about Elliot he liked. Perhaps it wa his great charisma, or patience, knowledge, kindness, gentleness, his great cooking skill, or most likely, how he knew how to cuddle with him on those nights when they watched Oxygen.

Dwicky felt a chill run down his chest and quickly searched for something else to occupy his mind. Before long, he was thinking over his paper work and the cases. Alot of them were just bullying issues. Other delt with family problems. Dib came in every once in a while, but hewouldn't even cooperate in teh slightest. It was his job to pry and attempt to make him feel better, but he was a year and a half away from the real world wher if you don't share or don't want to, nobody cares.

Withen minutes he was leaving city boundries and driving into its outskirts. It wasn't quite country, more ofjust desert suburbia. A few miles off from there, an apartment complex stood tall and braod in almost nowhere land. Designed back in 2028, it was suppose to look modern futuristic. It wa nearly nothing more than a cement block with red and blue iron doors with cascaded glass side windows. The roof had points and pitch in seemingly odd places and the windows were narrow and long or tall. Gravel surrounded the building, still as white as bone. Small populars waved at the entrance of the lod and around its edges. A willow swayed on either side of the tidy building and lush grass danced across the property. The back was nothing more than a small strip of grass outlined with red mulch and more populars. A stone birdbath was all that decored.

Dwicky pulled into his usual parking spot, just as he did, large drops of rain committed suicide on his windsheild. Instantly his windsheild wipers activated and his window rolled up. For a few moments, he only sat where he was, the radio played softly and hsi vehicles engine purred. He finally killed the ignition but remained sitting. Larger drops splattered on any exposed object, thuner rolled in the distance.

He grabbed his bag and opened his door, making sure to avoid knocking his head on the way out. Quickly he shut the door and sprinted to the double doors, hoping he wouldn't get too wet. There was no such luck for him. The rain grew heavier once he reached the midpoint between his truck and the doors. He cursed to himself, pulling the jacket over him like an umbrella. He reached the doors, pulling them open and hurring inside. Once there, he looked down the empty, silent corridor, four cobolt blue door on each side, a crimson carpet down it's length and cement stairs. The burnt-pumpkin coloured walls made teh smell of Heldas apple pie all the more irresistable. He made a mental note to stop by her shoppe and pick some up.

He climbed up the tairs, his sfot footsteps sounding more like stomping, thank to the lonely silance. He passed through the floor two with its navy carpet, crimson doors and it's deep storm-blue walls. Each floor had it's own set of colours, so floor three was a beige hall with mocha doors and forest carpet. This was the floor he hoped had the opening when he first arrived, but instead, level four had the open space. This floor had an aomost purple magenta carpeting and purple walls with grey doors. It seemed like the most out of place of all halls. The owner of the building had an interestng taste in design, but none of the residants complained. It worked.

Dwicky slid his key into the slot, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the hall, pausing to tak it in. Despite the rain, the area still helds its beauty. Most people would worry about developments obstructing the view and area around teh building, but they didn't know about how Isolde, the buildings owner, bought out the land five acres on either side adn all the way back to the barbed wire fencing too far back to see from the apartment complex. The fence was the border between the scenic desert like scrub area Georgia O'Keef would of adored and teh sudden, tall waving sea of golden waist length grass behind it. Next to the fence in the property of the farmer was a dirt path that ran parallel to the fencing until a yard before an old weeping willow came up and bent the path inwards between the walls of grass and over the hill. He knew of this because he'd once travele back that far, viewing the land in awe. Just behind the fifteen acre walls of golden waist-high grass lay a small thicket, then the mountains. To his left, the land just kept going and going along the mountains until it dissapeared on the horizon. To his right, you could barely see the top of the farmers home and barn on the other side of the hill where the path steepened. he photoed this once and sent it to a releative to painted. She painted this and ended up making around 2,000 dollars on the work of art. Both vowed to keep the location a secret to keeps it's beauty untapped, and so of course other painters wouldn't come around and do similar painting, lowering the value of her own. Call it selfish, or call it good marketing and beauty preservation.

When the locked clicked, he turned the knob and entered, shutting the door and this memory of that past spring out in the hallway. There was work to do.

*******************************************


	6. The NEWS

The whole home met up that night after dinner, crowding into the living room like the Simpsons plust 10. The ages varied from infants to 17 year olds who'd be moving out that summer, including, moi. Everybody fidgeted the same, like six year olds with a pocket of red fire ants. Maybe that' exaggerating a little, but there are a few people here I'd like to see with pugnacious, mental looking ants in their delicates. Why are those ants so big headed?

Mr. Dueffry sat himself on the easy chair, the Mrs. Perched on the armrest. She looked about ready to drain her face. I couldn't help but crack a smile when the image of everbody kneeling, readied eith sponges and mops came into my mind.

"Gretchen, is there something you'd like to share?" Mr. Deuffry asked, pretending like he really cared about what went on in my twisted mind.

Almost everybody looked right at me. Oh wait, now they did. Huey is a little slow in reacting. I tried to force my smile down, looking like a constipated moron, I'm sure, and said the best I could, "Sponges.", as if that explained everything.

There was a ripple of laugther, which would of made anybody feel better, but not me. I knew they were laughing at me, and not the non-existant sponges. Respect the sponges. What esle will obsorb your spills and then spew germs all over you?

Sponges are a breeding ground for those suckers.

Mr. Deuffry went back to whatever it was he needed to say, some of those eyes lingering on me still. I just ignored them, because they're next ot get questioned if they didn't give their attention to the Deuff.

"As I was saying, "he continued, breifly glancing at me. That jerk."There's been an incident."

I prettened to cover my mouth in premature shock in order to cover up my smirk as I thought, "Did somebody plant Cheetos in your office?" Hah! That commercial was so lame that it acheived mild humor. But it was good enought for me to rmemember from like, my infancy. It was acient even then.

"Because of that incident, The Deuffry Home will be closing down."

Hah-hah-ha-oh.

My hand lowered, now I really was in shock.

"What? Why?" asked little George. Gotta love those genaric names. Take long to come up with that one Mr. and Mrs. I'm-too-good-for-a-kid-and-therefor-think-we-should-give-him-a-crappy-name? Don't get me wrong, that's not my opinion on every parent who ditches their kid, but in Georges case, it was exactly true. His parently simply thought kids were terrible and weren't worth the trouble. Before you tell me all about, I already know I'm a horrible person, so the following year when they got hit by a Diaper truck, I laughed until I scared the little kids. Including George.

"Well, there are many reasons. None of which having to do with out ability to foster parent."he informed, slash, defeanded.

"So, uh, we're gonna get dumped out on the street?" Good ol' Randy, 'quick to light the wick,' as The Deuff says. Randy isn't a dude really, more like a really really dude-ified chick. She shares a room with Wendy, ther's that originality again, who we all know would not get into any mischeif with Randy. Or so they thought. Lucky me got to walk in ont them scissoring. That's a memory I'll never be able to scrub from my whatever-lobe.

"No Randy. Alot of people will be comming by to either adopt, take you to another home, or provide a place to stay." Mrs. Deufry said, settling her water works.

Ther was a breif quietness before Randy spoke up again, "So, what's the differance between being adopted and provided for?" he asked. She asked.

Whatever.

"Well, when you're adopted, you are a part of the family with all the fixings and paper work. When you are provided, you are just staying with a trusted member of the community, but not as an adoptive child. You're still a foster child, just not in a foster building." Explained the Deuff. Sort of.

"Like on aminal vets?" When the vetamatarion take a aminal home fo r little bit but doesn't keep it?" asked the child knownf for his absolute love for 'aminuls". This was Chris the six year old Steve Irwen. Yep, he even picks up garden snakes and teaches anybody who cares to listen about any animal he knows about. If he isn't bothering the wildlife, he's either watching Animal Planet or reading Zoobooks. Good ol' Chris.

"Exactly!" said Mr. Deuffry. I had to admit, that helped even me a little.

"Where am I going?" asked a little kid who I can never remember. Every first few seconds I see him, I swear to god he's new, but it takes only a few more seconds to remember that he's been here for two years. Anyway, nowt thathe asked that question, now everybody was wanting to know at that instant what their fate would be. Itw as a loud rally, but eventually the Deuffrys were able to shut them up.

"We don't all know yet. You will by tomarrow." said the Deuff. Mrs. Deuffry ebgan to face-leak again. It seemd a little conviniant that we'd know that soon. My guess it that they've known for a while now and they knew we'd want to know A.S.A.P. Clever geezers. They couldn't use a PS6, but they cab decypher our simple minds.

So the whole group split up, eitehr crying or blathering to each other. I just left upstairs. Call me uncaring, call me detatched, or call me Gretchen. Any of them work.


	7. The NEWS pt 2

Dwicky arrived at the meeting a few minuted before the last of the called faculty arrived. By the looks on the faces of Mr. Rawhearty adn the grade counselors, you knew something was up. The counselors had teh scoop, but most of teh faculty had only a vague idea of what was going on. Despite their level of knowledge, they all semed rather uneasy. Mr. Rawhearty finally started once the last member settled in.

"As you all know, the local foster him is being closed for multiple reasons. As a result, there are going to be many homeless youth.s. About 24 to be exact. The beighboring homes in adjacent cities already have limited room, so we are reyling on adoption and providers to help temporarily home some of the youth. By this time next week, all of the youth who haven't found a home, or who weren't able to get into another foster facility,will need a temporary, "he paused, "or permanent home. We are aware that many of you already have families, or just can't take in youth, but we hope some of you can."

"None of this was in our contracts." said Mrs. Reimer.

This isn't mandatory, Sue. We are simply gathered heere to help spready the knowledge of this unfortunate up and comming. There are few members of the community we can trust to take in some of these youth for a little while. Teachers are amongst the most trusted. Cops used to be, but uh, "he raised his brows breifly, "Community icons are what we are looking for. Already, the Heubourns volenteered to take in three of the youth. We al remember the Heubourns, don't we?"

Some of the faculty nodded. The Heubourns are a wealthy family, always ready to donate to any and every charity in any and every way. The attend festivals and have their own stands wehre they hold games and sell goods like Mrs. Heubourns pies, jellies and spices, old fashioned things, or Mr. Heubourns woodcrafts. Teh money then goes to the foster homes and cancer funds. Yeah, they still haven't found a cure for that yet. It was a Heubourn tradition since they first arrived in Villesburg back in teh 1820s, centries ago.

"But how do you know you can trust these people! They could be closet offenders!" Mr. Tarry spoke up.

"Good question! Of course, the faculty have constant backround checks. Nobody with certain offenses are permitted to take in youth."

The group seemed satisfied, trusting that nothign would develop and so didn't ask about it. It was pretty clear what they city was looking for in their candidates.

"So, when you leave, there are forms there on the table beside the door. They are available two days before the deadline, which is next Wednesday." he concluded.

Withen a few more minutes, things were sorted out to a good extent, and everybody began to file out. The entire time, Dwicky had this thought clamped between his hemispheres. He was perfectly capable of taking in a youth, but the question was whether he could keep it up. The money that was provided to the home from the city and donations would be split amongst the shelter providers. If there are few youth, then the providers would have plenty for the youth. The more of them however, the moeny would become strained. The city may put in more, but they can only give so much.

On his way out, he grabbed up a form as well as most of the otehr faculty members.

Karma would be sweet.


	8. Good Bye Home

If you didn't already guess, I'm stil here. Like the Deuff predicted, alot of people came in, suddenly really wanting kids. What's up with that? I suppose it would be like the animal shelter closing. Mine as well adopt now before it closes. After that, you might have to go out of city. God forbid!

Like an animal shelter, all the little kiddes were snatched up like little coffee cakes at a beatnick gathering. As for we older chilluns, we just sit and wait to see which member of the community is unfortunate enough to get stuck with us. It wouldn be a shock if there were almost no volenteers. Ther are families who are thrilled with their little 'angels', but too many people nowadays loathe us. It's our fault. It always is. Sorry we didn't raise ourselves to your standards folks. Alot of those child loathing snoots don't realize it's how we are raised that shapes us, but we get the blame. Oh the fun.

So anyway, here we are, awaiting our doom. Ther are already three of us who are going right to the Heubourns if they aren't snatched up. The Heubourns are supposedly so wonderful, that they got to hand pick their youth. The rest of the good semaritans just get a youth tossed at them. Fresh from the markets, still has that homeless kid smell!

It wa a little releiving, but also a little dissapointing to find out I wasn't one of the 'chosen ones'. It was the younger kiddies. One of them got adopted, so was replaced with another, slighter older kid. By tonight, who ever is still around, we get distributed around the city folks like Chiclets. Licorice Chiclets.

Chiclorice.

So I was laying on the bare bed, listening to what was left of sound around here, when Lizzy burst in a scared half the crap out of me.

"Lizzy! Chillax, will ya?"

Lizzy squeeled and climbed onto the bed in front of me, "Gretchen! I got 'dopted!" she announced.

"That's great!" It really was. How the hell Lizzy didn't get adopted before astounds me. How could you pass up a little curly blond five year old in a sunflower dress? You creeps.

"So, when are you heading out?"

"In five-teen minutes!" She said, holding up seven fingers. Gotta love that. "I wanted to say goodbye." she wrapped her arms around me, almost squeezing my throught shut.

"O.K., let's not choke Gretchen, okay?" I said, lightly hugging her back. Affection come to me like swimming to a rock.

She slid off of the bed, waving, "Bye-bye!" she said, rushing out without shutting the door. Fine. I should probably keep it open incase somebody else wants to leap at me with the same news. Hopefully, not one of the bigger kids.

Later that night, dinner came and passed, and there were only seven of us left, including the three 'chosen ones'. Ther was also me, of course, Randy, Nick, and Justin. If it weren't for the fact that the three 'chosen ones' were heading off to the freak'n Heubourns, they'd probably be sobbing. Af for the four os us unworthy boxcar children, we just sat and said nothing. For a little while anyway.

"This sucks! I feel like a left over at a garage sale!" Just said, throwing his hands up.

He was only 17, so he had something to complain about. I was turning 18 next October, so after that, I'm gonna be pushed out of the nest and expected to sprout wings and fly.

"Yeah, really. I'm gonna have such a compex." Randy agreed, hands behind his head.

Nick came into the room, hearing our conversation and wanting to join in, obviously. He lept over the back of the couch next to Randy. "Who wants to go through life knowing they're unwanted?"

"On, nice. Rub it in, Nick! Just rub it!" I said harmlessly.

That's what she said.

He shrugged, "Well, the first step to recovery is admittance."

"Thanks Dr. Clocken, that was deep. I think I'm gonna go call my mom and tell her I love her. Oh wait!" was Ranys reply.

"So like, we going to teachers and socers and crap? What's the deal?"

They shrugged or commented with, "Beats the shit out of me' or, 'Fuck if I know."

Such colourful vocabulary. Make Trix cereal look like Cheerios.

Frosted and Honey nut are the dig-shits.

Mr. Deuffry came in, holding a few papers. He sat on the easy chair, facing us. "Well, I know know," he said, setting them on the armrest. We all looked to him and in record time, he was speaking. That's what happens when your crowd goes from 24 to 4. The 'chosen ones' already left via the side door a few minutes ago. "Okay. So I have the list here. Randy and Nick, you two are off with the Gattersons. They run that charity fest every summer. Randy looked pleased, Nick was examining something he extracted from his ear. Suave Nick. Real suave. Actually, you could use some.

"Justin and Gretchen, you guys are off with Mr. Dwicky, the eleventh grade counselor." I don't know what Justins reaction was since I was busy not letting my face explode.

"Gretchen? You okay?" he asked, a little alarmed.

I snapped out of in in time to spew some kind of super slick reply, OH, yeah yeah. I just had a super bad cramp, you know? Righ tdown under my kidney, like a-"

"Okay Gretchen, I get it."

Hah, Win. Kind of. I'm still headed off to live with a school counselor that makes my face ignite in flames. Weee.


End file.
